‘You’ll do as you are.’ That was a fat lot of help.
‘Great.’ Hope grabbed her bag. ‘Lead on, then. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get on with some wedding planning for Faith. Don’t think I’m here for any other reason.’
But even as she said the words Hope knew she wasn’t being entirely honest, not with him, not with herself. She could tell herself as much as she liked that she was only spending time with Gael for her sister, for her job. But the truth was she needed a way out of the rigid constraints and fears she had built around her. And whatever happened over the next two weeks or so Hope knew that she would be changed in some way. And that had to be a good thing, didn’t it? Because this life swap had shown her that it wasn’t her old job, or raising Faith or living in her childhood house that had imprisoned her. It was Hope herself. Which meant there was no handsome prince or fairy godmother waiting in the wings to transform her life, to transform her.
This was her chance and she was going to grab it.
* * *
‘So, where exactly are we going? Do we need to get a cab?’ Hope was trying to sound nonchalant but Gael could tell that she was eaten up with curiosity. What had she been imagining? Probably the worst—after all, hadn’t he told her that he wanted her to take some risks? To start living? She’d probably put those remarks together with the paintings and come up with some seduction scenario straight out of a nineteen-seventies porn movie.
But it wasn’t her body he needed to start exploring, no, not even in those shorts, which hugged her compact body perfectly, lengthening her legs and rounding nicely over what was a very nice bottom. He had never deflowered a virgin, not even in his school days, and had no intention of starting now. Inexperience physically meant inexperience emotionally and Gael had no intention of dealing with crushes or infatuation or anything else equally messy. No matter how enticing the package.
Hang on—when had Hope gone from convenient minion and model to enticing? He’d been so busy with the exhibition he’d been living like a monk for the last few months—which was more than a little ironic, considering how much naked female flesh had been on display in his studio. It wasn’t her per se. No, Hope was just the first woman he had spent any time with in a social capacity in a while. Obviously boundaries would blur a little.
Not that this was really social. Sort out the wedding, crack open that shell she’d erected around herself and she’d be ready for him to paint. That was why he was here, why he’d spent yesterday afternoon wandering around Central Park encouraging her to forget her dignity and enjoy the carousel ride. At the end of the day it was all business.
And he refused to dwell on just how enjoyable the business had ended up being... ‘No cab needed. It’s just a few blocks.’
‘Okay.’
She still sounded apprehensive and Gael’s conscience gave him a small but definite nudge. His skill, talent aside, had always been to put people at their ease, so much so that they almost forgot he was there. That was how he managed to take so many fly-on-the-wall photos; no paparazzi tricks for him. No, just the ability to blend in, to become part of the furniture. But something about Hope McKenzie had him rubbed up all the wrong way; he liked seeing her bristle a little too much, couldn’t resist winding her up. But a brittle, wary subject wasn’t going to give him the kind of picture he needed. It was time to turn up the charm. ‘We’re going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I want you to look at an original Manet and some portraits to get an idea of what I want from you—and then we can look at the roof terrace. It’s beautiful up there and you might want to consider it for the reception. They don’t usually hire it out but I might be able to pull some strings.’
‘That sounds great.’
Gael repressed a grin as Hope exhaled a very audible sigh of relief. ‘What, did you think I was going to send you on some kind of Seduction 101 course? Starting with the dance of the seven veils and ending up in some discreet bordello?’
‘Of course not,’ but the colour in her cheeks belied her words. Interesting, her imagination had definitely been at play. Had he figured in it at all? The seducer, the cad, the lover? The architect, leading her through her seductive education? Gael tore his mind back to the matter at hand, refusing to allow it to dwell on the interesting scenes so effortlessly conjured up.
He stopped as Hope halted at a snack stand to pick up a bottle of water and an apple. She turned, the apple in one hand, like Eve tempting him to fall. ‘Would you like anything?’
‘No, thanks.’ He’d forgotten that girls, that women, did that. Bought their own water, a normal bottle of water from a normal silver metal snack stand just outside Central Park. The women he dated demanded fancy delis and even fancier water imported from remote places with prices to match.
And they never paid their way. Hope hadn’t even sent him a hopeful sideways look; instead she’d offered to treat him. To water and a piece of fruit, but still. It was a novel experience—and not a displeasing one.
‘So.’ She had sunk her teeth into the apple, juice on her lips. He tried not to stare, not to be too fascinated by the glistening sweetness, but his eyes were drawn back to the tempting plumpness. The serpent knew what it was doing when it selected an apple; Adam had never stood a chance. ‘Do we have to go into special rooms to look at the paintings or are they respectable nudes?’
‘It’s all perfectly respectable,’ he promised as they turned the corner and walked towards the steps leading up to the arched entrances of the museum. As usual the steps were crowded: groups of girls gossiping while sipping from huge coffee cups, lone people scrolling through phones, sketching or reading battered paperbacks, couples entwined and picnicking families. The usual sense of coming home washed over him. The museum had been a sanctuary when he had lived in Misty’s town house, the place he had come to on exeats from school. The only place where he had felt that he knew who he was. Where his anonymity wasn’t a curse but a blessing as he moved through the galleries, just another tourist.
Hope tossed her apple core into a trash can and wiped her hands on a tissue before lobbing that in after her apple. ‘I pass this every day on my way to work,’ she said as they began to climb the stairs. ‘I always meant to come in.’
‘What stopped you? It’s open late and at weekends.’
Hope shrugged. ‘I don’t know, the usual, I suppose.’
‘Which is?’
‘That because I haven’t before I don’t know how to. And before you say anything, yes, I know it’s stupid. But even though we lived in London my parents weren’t really museum people or theatre people—they were far more likely to take us for a walk. They liked nothing better than driving out to a hill somewhere so we could walk up it and eat sandwiches in the drizzle. It was always drizzling!’
‘My parents didn’t take me to museums either—Misty’s interest only runs to showing off her philanthropy and my dad only stepped foot inside when it was the annual ball and only then under duress. I think that’s why I loved it so much; it’s somewhere I discovered for myself. What did you do as a teenager?’
‘Hung out with friends, the usual.’ But her voice was constrained and she had turned a little away from him, a clear sign she didn’t want to talk about it.
They reached the doors and entered the magnificent Great Hall with its huge ceilings and sweeping arches. Gael palmed his pass, steering Hope past the queues waiting patiently to check their bags in and pay for admittance until he reached the membership desk.
The neatly dressed woman behind the desk smiled, barely looking at his pass. ‘Good morning, Mr O’Connor. Is this young lady your guest?’
‘Good morning, Jenny. How’s the degree going? Yes, Hope’s with me.’
‘First-name terms with the staff?’ Hope murmured as he led her down the corridor, expertly winding his way around tour groups and puzzled clumps of map-w
ielding visitors.
‘I may come here fairly regularly.’ Plus he was a patron—and Misty sat on the prestigious Board of Trustees but Hope didn’t need to know that. He didn’t want to dazzle her with his connections; he’d learned long ago that women impressed with those were only after one thing—influence. He’d vowed long ago never to be used again. He might be enjoying Hope’s company but, just like every other woman, she was with him because of what he could do for her. It was a lesson he was unlikely to forget.
* * *
Hope sank onto the couch with a grateful cry. ‘I wore my most comfortable shoes and still my feet ache. We must have walked miles and miles and miles without ever going outside. And my eyes ache just as much as my feet.’
Gael suppressed a smile. ‘It’s not easy compressing two thousand plus years of art history into a four-hour tour.’
‘Five hours and only a twenty-minute coffee stop,’ Hope said bitterly. ‘I almost fainted away right in front of the Renoir—or was it Degas?’
‘Better get it right or you’ll fail the written test later. I’ve ordered a cheese plate, water and a glass of wine. Do you think that will fortify you?’
‘Only if I don’t have to move again. Ever.’
‘Not for the next half hour,’ Gael promised. ‘But then we have a private tour of the roof garden and the Terrace Room. Your sister can’t get married here but she can certainly have the reception. Do you know how many you’re organising it for yet?’
Hope rubbed her temples. ‘Not exactly but because Misty is planning such a lavish party and a blessing two days later the wedding day itself is to be kept small and intimate. Last email she said that she would like to keep it down to me, you, Hunter’s mother of course. His father—will that be awkward in such a small group?’
‘I don’t think so. Misty and he still move in all the same circles. I told you yesterday, she specialises in civilised divorces.’
‘Then a couple of the groom’s friends and apparently they are paying for two of Faith’s school friends and our aunt and her family to fly over. So that will be...’ she totted up the amount on her fingers ‘...fifteen.’
‘Hmm, we might rattle around a bit in the Terrace Room. Let’s have a look and see what you think.’
‘Faith emailed yesterday to say she would definitely like to have two dresses, which is great because finding just one isn’t proving to be at all awkward. Something subtle for the wedding because it’s so small, but I think she wants to go all out for the party, especially as they will be repeating their vows.’ Hope bit her lip. ‘It’s such a responsibility. The couple of places I spoke to yesterday seemed to imply that it was easier to learn to do heart surgery in a fortnight than it is to buy and fit a wedding dress. And it’s not just the dress. There’s a veil, tiara, jewellery. Underwear. And she wants me to sort out bridesmaids’ dresses for just me for the ceremony but for both friends and our cousin for the party as well.’
Gael got that Hope felt responsible for her sister, that she had raised her. But this amount of stress all for someone else? He couldn’t imagine a single member of his family—including all the exes and steps—putting themselves out for someone else. He had them all on the list for his exhibition’s opening-night party and knew Misty would be there if she possibly could. His father if there was nothing better to do. But his mother? She hadn’t made his graduation from school or college, he doubted she’d make the effort for a mere party. Funny how, much as he told himself he didn’t care, her casual desertion still stung after all these years—only he was so used to it that it was more of a pinprick than anything really wounding.
He didn’t know if it was better or worse that she adored his two half-brothers so much, every occasional email a glowing testimonial to their unique specialness. No, he might still have two living, breathing parents but Faith was luckier than he was. What would it be like to have someone like Hope on your side? Someone you could count on? ‘You could say no. Ask her to come and organise it herself.’
But she was already shaking her head. ‘No. I promised her that I would take care of everything. If things were different she’d have a mother to help her. Well, she doesn’t, she only has me. I won’t let her down.’ There was a telltale glimmer in her eyes and her words caught as she spoke. She looked away, swallowing convulsively as the waitress brought their food and drink over.
Gael sat back, smiling his thanks as the waitress placed their drinks and the cheese platter onto the table. Hope swallowed again and he gave her a moment to compose herself, glad that it was so quiet in the members’ only lounge he had brought her to. ‘What about you, Hope? Who takes care of you?’
She stared at him, her eyes wide in her pale face. ‘I take care of me. I always have.’
‘And you’re doing just fine, is that what you’re saying? You don’t know how to step out of your limited comfort zone. You pour all your energy into work and looking after your sister and you’re lonely. But you don’t need anyone. Sure. You keep telling yourself that.’
What was he saying? He was all about the self-sufficiency himself. But it was different for him. He was toughened whereas Hope was like a toasted marshmallow—a superficial hardened edge hiding an utter mess on the inside. He’d only known her for less than three days but he’d diagnosed that within the first day. And it was a shame. She was a trier...that was evident. She cared, maybe a little too much. A girl like that should have someone to look out for her.
‘Thanks for the diagnosis, Doc.’ Hope picked up her wine glass and held it up to him in a toast. ‘I’ll make sure I come to you every time I need relationship advice. Especially as I spent a lot of time yesterday looking through photos at your place and do you know what I didn’t see? I didn’t see a single photo of you having fun. Oh, yes...’ as he tried to interrupt. ‘There are pictures of you posing next to women. Sometimes you have your arm around their waist. But you never look like you’re enjoying yourself, you never look relaxed. You’re as alone as I am—more so. I have Faith. Hunter said you were his brother but you were very quick to deny any relationship with him at all.’
Touché. Gael clinked her glass with his own. ‘But I prefer to be by myself. It’s my choice. Is it yours, or are you just too afraid to let anyone in? Either way, here’s to Hunter and Faith, getting their wedding and this painting out of the way and returning to our solitary lives. Cheers.’
CHAPTER SIX
WHAT WAS IT about Gael O’Connor that made her bristle like an outraged cat? Hope usually hid her feelings so well sometimes it seemed, even to her, that she didn’t have any. Slights, slurs and digs passed her by. It didn’t rankle when the girls at work went out without her, when they chatted about nights out in front of her as if she weren’t even there. She barely noticed when photos of school reunions she hadn’t been invited to showed up on her social-media pages or when wedding photos were circulated and she wasn’t amongst the guests. Hope had chosen to remove herself from the human race, had chosen to devote herself and her life to Faith; she wasn’t going to complain now her job was almost done.
Why would she when she had raised a happy, confident, bright girl who had her whole future before her? She could never fully make things up to her little sister but she had done as much as was humanly possible—and if she had sacrificed her own life for that, well, that felt like a fair trade. She was at peace with her decision.
At peace until Gael opened his mouth, that was. As soon as that mocking note hit his voice her hackles rose and she responded every single time. Was it because he didn’t care for the official ‘Hope is wonderful to give everything up for Faith’ line, instead making her sound like a pathetic martyr living life vicariously instead of in reality? She didn’t need it pointed out. She knew she wasn’t wonderful or selfless but she didn’t feel like a martyr. Usually.
Still, she couldn’t complain too much when in one aftern
oon he had managed to sort out the wedding venues and in such smooth style. It helped that they were looking at a Thursday afternoon wedding and not the weekend but Gael had known all the right people to talk to, to ensure the tight timescales weren’t a problem. After consulting with the blissful and all too absent couple they had decided to hold the ceremony in Central Park itself, at a beautiful little leafy spot by the lake, followed by cocktails at the Tavern on the Green. The Met’s Roof Garden closed to the public at four-thirty p.m. and wasn’t usually available for private hire, but Gael had managed to sweet talk the event coordinator into letting them in after hours for drinks and dinner. So all Hope needed to do was organise afternoon entertainment, evening entertainment, flowers and clothes. She still had just over ten days. Easy.
Now all she wanted to do was fling herself onto the surprisingly comfortable daybed and sleep for at least twelve hours. Her feet still throbbed from the whistle-stop tour through the history of art and her head was even worse. But sleep was a long, long way away. Instead she had less than an hour to shower and get ready. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight,’ Gael had said brusquely as they’d finalised the details with first the event organiser at the Met and then with the Central Park authorities. ‘It might be worth eating first.’
Okay. This wasn’t a date. Obviously. It was part work, part family business but still. Hope would bet her half of her overpriced London home that not one of the beauties she had seen hanging off Gael’s arm in photos had ever taken less than three hours to get ready—and he would have always bought them dinner.
She crammed the rest of her Pop-Tart into her mouth and grabbed a banana reasoning that the addition of fruit turned her snack into a balanced meal.
Thirty minutes later she was showered with freshly washed and dried hair and dressed in one of her new dresses. She hadn’t dared wear it before, much as she liked the delicate coffee-coloured silk edged with black lace; it was just so short, almost more of a tunic than a dress... She fingered a pair of thick black tights; surely they would make the dress more respectable? But it was still so hot and humid and her own legs were the brownest they had ever been thanks to weekends spent reading on her fire escape. Hope stared down at what seemed like endless naked flesh before cramming her feet into a pair of black and cream sandals she’d bought on sale but not yet worn because she wasn’t entirely sure she could walk in them.
Unveiling the Bridesmaid Page 7